Fade to Grey
by oneship
Summary: Beverly and Klingons! I originally posted this as Firinn3, but never finished it. I have more chapters, and would like to complete the story, so I'm re-posting the initial chapters along with some new material. I WILL finish it this time. :-)
1. Chapter 1

Beverly prowled the cargo deck of the Klingon trading vessel. Her heavy boots rang out against the metal decking, their sharp sound mirroring the emotions pulsing through her tense body. The creak of her leather uniform carried eerily down the corridor, refusing, like her thoughts, to be silenced.

She hated waiting for a mission to begin. The ship was two hours away from the planet: the equipment had been checked, re-checked, and checked again. The plan itself had been examined and rehearsed from every angle. There was nothing left to do but wait. She ran her hands through her auburn hair and viciously pulled it into a loose bun, forcefully pinning it to her head.

"I hate this!" she growled as she completed another circuit of the deck.

"Spoken like a true warrior."

Beverly whirled around and found herself face-to-face with the ship's deputy security officer, Lorn. Her surprise must have registered on her face as he declared, "I will join the team that will be beaming into the tunnels."

Beverly stared intently at the Klingon who, until this moment, had refused to even speak with her, let alone ask to be part of her away mission. Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, she cast her gaze over his imposing bulk and asked, "Why?"

Lorn laughed as he replied, "You understand Klingons. You understand honour. I have been watching you these past weeks and despite your obvious limitations, you have impressed me."

"Limitations?" Beverly's eyes blazed at the insult.

"Yes, limitations," Lorn replied. Poking calloused fingers into her chest to emphasize his words, he said, "You are female, human, and Starfleet. Never forget this. We won't."

"I'm no longer a member of Starfleet," she said bitterly. _At least, I won't be once they take me into custody and court-martial me_ , she thought.

"Still, the stench of the uniform clings to you."

"If you had decent bathing facilities aboard this festering tub you call a ship I could remedy that," she replied.

Lorn threw back his head and laughed. "MajQa! Well done!" He gestured for her to fall into step with him as he began to walk along the corridor. "You cannot change the fact that you are female or human, but I find myself wondering why you would choose to leave Starfleet."

"My leaving wasn't by choice," she replied.

"Tell me."

She raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I wish to understand you better before we go into battle together," Lorn explained as they neared a junction in the corridor.

"I stole Federation property and disobeyed a direct order from a superior officer," she answered honestly. "Does that make me less honourable in your eyes?"

"Were your actions related to your current mission?"

She chuckled bitterly as she replied, "Oh, my actions were directly related to our current situation. You can be sure of that." She flinched as she remembered the look of devastation on Deanna's face as they stood on the bridge of the _Enterprise_ so many months ago.

Closing her eyes she replayed the scene on the bridge in her head as though it were a holomovie.

"Dammit, Will! He's down there and we all know it!" Beverly yelled at the first officer after he ordered the transmission to the surface to be muted.

"Beverly," Will tried to keep his voice neutral as he spoke, "we don't know anything for sure. For all we know, he really could be as dead as they claim."

"Where's the body?" Beverly demanded. "Dammit! I want proof! I refuse to leave here without confirmation of their story."

"Beverly," Deanna tried to calm her friend. "We won't leave orbit until we find the captain or receive proof of his death."

"He's alive, and that _son of a bitch_ ," she gestured angrily at the main viewer, "knows exactly where he is." Never before had Beverly felt the urge to claw someone's eyes out until she saw the smug face of the Hrashellian First Minister on the screen. She clenched and unclenched her hands into fists in an effort to control her rage.

"Beverly," Will spoke again, "we need proof. I cannot start an interstellar war based on your assertions. What proof do you have that he's still alive?"

"You know I don't have any," she snapped back. "You pulled my team off the planet before we could get to him!"

Beverly thrust her hands into the pockets of her lab coat as Will gestured to Worf to restore communications with the planet's surface.

"Minister," Riker worked hard to keep his voice respectful as he spoke, "I'm sure you understand our dilemma. We do not wish to offend you by implying that we don't believe your description of the events that occurred, but we cannot leave without concrete proof that Captain Picard is truly dead."

The Minister sighed theatrically and replied, "As you know, our culture places no value on a corpse. We view them as empty shells and treat them like any other bodily waste. As soon as the body of your captain was discovered, it would have been sent to a reclamation facility and disposed of."

"I'm sorry, Minister, but we simply cannot accept your word on this," Will replied firmly.

"I will see what I can do." The Minister smiled as he spoke, "I will notify you if I discover any further proof to the claims made by our security forces." The Minister pressed a button on a panel and his face was replaced by an image of the planet they were currently orbiting.

Will turned and looked expectantly at Deanna. She looked helplessly back at him.

"I'm sorry Will. He's very hard to read," she explained. "I sense that he's not being completely honest with us, but about what, I'm not sure."

"Damn!" He began to pace. "That's not good enough to take to Command. We need more proof."

Beverly froze as Will's words sank in. A chill ran down her spine as she realized the implications.

"Beverly?" Deanna turned toward her friend, a look of concern on her face. "What's wrong?"

"He's right," Beverly answered almost distractedly.

"Who's right?"

"Will," she replied. "It's not good enough."

The chill began to melt into a molten fire, filling her chest, making it hurt to breathe. She shifted her gaze from the planet to Deanna and said, "Your skills aren't good enough."

Deanna replied, slightly stunned, "Beverly, I can tell you're upset about the situation. We are all anxious and want the captain back."

Beverly shook her head. "You don't get it, do you?"

"Perhaps you could explain it to me, so I can better understand where you're coming from," Deanna replied, using her standard counsellor rhetoric.

"We're going to have to leave him here because your skills aren't good enough." Her voice was ice, counterbalancing the burning in her heart. She thought her ribs would melt, the pain was so intense.

Deanna gasped.

"Beverly—" Riker tried to interject.

"No!" she refused to be interrupted. Gone was her Starfleet training, and in its place was a hurt so profound it blinded all rational thought beyond the knowledge she was about to lose the most important person in her universe. "I'm right and you know it! The captain's life is forfeit because Deanna can't read that bastard's mind!"

"I—" Deanna stammered.

"I don't want your excuses!" Beverly cried. "I want you to do your damn job and get the captain back! If you can't do it, then maybe we should find someone who can!"

"Doctor!" Riker bellowed. "That was uncalled for! I strongly urge you to—"

"Don't worry, Commander," Beverly interrupted as she strode up the ramp toward the turbolift, "I'm leaving."

Beverly's last view of the bridge was of the entire crew staring at her in stunned silence as the doors closed. She didn't care. Her universe had gone painfully nova and shrunk to a hard ball of ice in the pit of her stomach. She blamed Deanna.

Beverly opened her eyes to find Lorn still walking beside her, apparently lost in his own thoughts. She studied his muscular frame as they walked. His hair, including moustache and short beard, was well-groomed. His uniform was worn but well maintained. Her surgeon's eye detected the subtle signs of rents and tears, carefully repaired.

As they walked she thought back to the questions he asked. He seemed to be more internally calm than most Klingons, asking probing questions most Klingons couldn't be bothered with. He possessed a subtleness that she rarely found among the warrior race. She found this difference intriguing and wondered where it came from.

Lorn glanced over and met her eyes. "I am going to drink to the bravery of the warriors undertaking this mission." He paused. "Join me."

Beverly nodded and followed him back to the living areas of the ship.


	2. Chapter 2

Beverly stood against the wall in the small mess hall with Lorn, each nursing their second tankard of bloodwine. The first had been quickly downed in a succession of toasts to the bravery of their fellow warriors. The second was being savoured as they took the opportunity to reflect on what had brought each to this point.

She leaned back against the narrow wall shelving that served as a table for those who actually remained in the room. Not ones for comfort at the best of times, the Klingon mess hall was designed to provide the crew with a place to acquire and devour their food as quickly as possible. No one lingered over their meals in the dark, almost claustrophobic room. Aside from the odd crewmember entering long enough to grab a plateful of food and leave, Beverly and Lorn were alone.

"Do you remember your first meal here?" Lorn asked as he sipped his drink.

"How could I forget?" Beverly replied as she shook her head at the memory. "Pagn and his friends decided to see how I would react to a little intimidation."

She had been at the serving table, loading her plate with her dinner when Pagn and his associates arrived. Pagn took the plate from her hands saying, "Your filth eat last." He laughed as each of his friends shoved her aside to get their own food.

Lorn chuckled as he replied, "There isn't a Klingon on board this ship who could have predicted what you did next."

Beverly blushed as she recalled how she allowed her temper to take over, overriding her Starfleet training, in order to prove herself worthy to the rough warriors she was travelling with.

Turning to Pagn, she grabbed the full platter from his hands, launched a string of scathing insults in Klingon, spat on his plate, and shoved it into his chest. It took a moment for the stunned disbelief to wear off; then Pagn reacted. With a low growl in his throat he tossed the plate aside and lunged at her.

Instantly every eye in the room was on the combatants. The cheers were for Pagn. The taunts were for the upstart Starfleet officer who dared to hire and serve with a Klingon mercenary crew.

Beverly dodged Pagn's lunge, letting his momentum carry him into the wall behind her. She quickly turned to face him, slipping into the ready stance Worf drilled into his Mok'Bara students. Noticing her readiness, Pagn approached more cautiously. When he made his move, Beverly was startled by his speed and ferocity.

He had his hands around her throat before she registered the sharp pain from her impact with the far wall. Staring into Pagn's snarling visage as stars began to obscure her vision, Beverly fought for air as she brought her knee up as hard as she could.

Pagn let out an angry roar and dropped Beverly to the deck. "PtaQ!" he swore as he hunched over his injured groin. Beverly barely had enough time to regain her feet before he charged at her again.

Beverly braced herself for the impact. At the last moment she ducked under his charge, sending Pagn flying over her back to land hard on the deck. Panting for breath, Beverly rested her hands on her knees as she waited for Pagn's next move.

She didn't have long to wait. Striking with the speed of an adder, Pagn's foot shot out and caught Beverly by surprise. Losing her balance, she tumbled to the deck and rolled over in time to avoid the vicious kick aimed at her abdomen. She tried to scramble away, but Pagn, having gained the upper hand, reached out and grabbed her leg in a painful grip.

He laughed as he pulled her back into the centre of the room. Beverly realised she was rapidly running out of options if she wanted to leave the fight without any serious injury. Opening her mouth to offer her submission, her words were cut off by the sudden placement of a hard, horned boot across her throat.

Pagn looked down at her and laughed. "You humans are weak. You are no match for a Klingon warrior." He watched as Beverly's face suffused with blood. "Are you prepared to beg for your pathetic life now?"

Beverly felt humiliated. She could hear the laughter and jeering of the Klingons in the mess hall and she knew she would lose every shred of respect or tolerance she may have had if she begged for her life. Her mission would be over before it had truly begun.

She felt Pagn reduce the pressure on her throat so she could speak. Taking in a precious breath of air, she scowled at him and used her last breath to utter the words, "Your mother was a Ferengi and your father was a Parnellian sea slug who had to pay for her services."

Beverly closed her eyes and waited for his boot to crush her windpipe. When the crushing pain didn't wipe her mind out forever, she opened one eye and cautiously peered above her. She was stunned to see Pagn gazing down at her. Even more shocking was the realization that his boot was no longer on her throat and he was holding his hand out to her.

Taking his hand, Beverly was pulled back to her feet and clapped on the back while the room erupted into laughter. Pagn laughed louder than the rest and roughly shook her as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Suppressing a wince, Beverly tried to smile as she rubbed her bruised throat.

"You have spirit, Doq," Pagn chuckled as he offered her a tankard of bloodwine. "There aren't many Klingons who would dare challenge me to fight, and while that may not reflect well on your intelligence, it does show you have courage. I am impressed that you refused to give in." He cast an appreciative glance up and down her battered and filthy frame. "You are pitifully weak for a Klingon, but you'll do."

Pagn looked around the room, raised his tankard and shouted, "Welcome aboard the _Targ_ , Doq!"

 _Doq_ , she thought as she worked the bloodwine down her injured throat. _Red_.

Taking another sip of her bloodwine, Beverly absently rubbed her throat remembering the pain despite the passage of several weeks since her encounter with Pagn. She looked over at Lorn and grinned. "I never did get to eat my lunch that day."

Lorn chuckled and then grew serious. "I made up my mind about you before you boarded the _Targ_ ," he said as he swirled the wine in his tankard. "When I saw you try to fight Pagn I began to re-evaluate my opinion." He paused. "I decided you were worth watching."

"And?"

"And," Lorn chuckled, "while you are pitifully weak for a Klingon, you are tough for a human. I look forward to the upcoming mission."

"Speaking of which," Beverly said as she gulped down the last of her bloodwine, "I should finish my preparations. We've only got an hour before we arrive."

Lorn nodded. Setting his tankard down, he held out his right arm as he spoke, "May the warriors of Sto'VoKor strengthen your arm."

Beverly grasped his arm and replied, "May your deeds be sung in the Hall of Battle for generations."

The traditional blessings complete, the two warriors exited the mess hall to prepare for the battle to come.


	3. Chapter 3

Striding purposefully down the corridor to the shuttle bay, Beverly mentally ran through the plan one more time. The team tasked with the job of disabling the communications command centre would be beaming down to the surface in a few moments. As soon as the main building was secured, her team would land their shuttle near the entrance to the southernmost mine.

The contact had assured her that this was the most likely place to find the captain as the southern mines were where the offworlders were sent. The entrance itself wasn't heavily guarded because there were reportedly several checkpoints in the main tunnel leading to the surface. If Beverly had her way, the team would have beamed directly into the main holding cavern where the miners ate and slept, but the composition of the bedrock rendered the transporters useless.

Beverly strapped herself into the co-pilot's seat and began her pre-flight check. She had logged over sixty hours training with the systems and controls in the Klingon shuttle, and felt very confident in her abilities. She looked over at the pilot for the mission, Kragh, and he nodded to her as he ran through his own check.

Kragh's sombre visage reminded her of Worf. _I wish he were here_ , she sighed. The burly Klingon security chief on the _Enterprise_ had been her Mok'Bara instructor, poker opponent, and friend. He was the one person who had implicitly understood why she had acted the way she had. She knew she wouldn't have been able to successfully leave the _Enterprise_ without his help.

Sitting in the pilot's seat, she rapidly went through the barest of pre-flight checks. She needed to get the shuttle away from the ship before they could lock on the tractor beam or use the transporters to bring her back. Hands flying over the console, she didn't bother to look up as the booming voice of Commander Riker filled the shuttle's interior.

"Occupant of shuttle Okuda, you do not have clearance. Return to the shuttle bay immediately."

Beverly shook her head as she toggled the communications system on and replied without looking at the viewscreen, "You know I can't do that, Commander." Her hands continued to prepare the shuttle for the jump to warp speed. She needed a few more moments to bring the warp engines online and then she would be away.

"Doctor?" Riker's shock was evident in his voice. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Exactly what it looks like, Will," she replied, not taking her eyes off the controls. "I'm stealing a shuttle."

"Beverly, we know you're upset," Deanna interjected, "but taking a shuttle to the surface won't help find the captain any more quickly."

Beverly sighed. "I'm not going to the surface." _And you don't want to know where I'm headed._

"Beverly—" Deanna tried again.

"Don't bother." Her reply was curt. "I understand the ramifications of my actions. I fully expect a letter of reprimand to be placed in my file, and I will face whatever hearings are required when I return." _If I return_ , she thought darkly.

"Doctor, you're leaving me no choice," Riker threatened as he watched the shuttle glide to a position between the ship's warp nacelles.

"And you're leaving me with no choice!" Beverly snapped as she finally looked at the faces of the crew she had come to think of as family. Her voice almost broke as she spoke, "I can't leave him there, Will."

Seeing her friends, her family, in pain because of her actions almost broke her resolve. Deanna was visibly upset, and she could read the hurt on Will's face as he tried to maintain his command façade. She hated hurting them, but she had no choice if she was going to get Jean-Luc back. _I need to do this! You have to understand!_

"Beverly, we're not leaving," Deanna spoke softly as she tried to reason with her friend. "Starfleet won't write him off so easily."

 _They've done it before_ , she thought, fighting back tears. _The Borg, Celtris III_.

"You know damn well that without hard evidence Starfleet won't be able to take any action. They'll make a great show of mourning the loss of a brilliant officer and within a matter of weeks he'll be all but forgotten." _Except by those who love him_ , she thought as she willed herself to maintain control.

"Mr. Worf," Riker said, "prepare to lock the tractor beam on the shuttle."

Beverly watched Worf as he bent over his station to carry out his task.

"Beverly, I'm giving you one last chance to return the shuttle to the ship." Riker was firm. "If you fail to comply, we will bring you back, willing or not."

"Tractor beam ready, Sir." Worf's bass rumbled through the channel.

"Damn it, Will!" Beverly tried one last time to make them understand. "He deserves better than this. He gave his life to Starfleet and they're going to leave him here to rot in order to avoid political unpleasantries." _The Federation needs Hrashellian arms support more than it needs Captain Jean-Luc Picard_ , she thought bitterly.

"Captain Picard has always believed that the Federation's ideals are more important than any one person," Deanna calmly replied. "You know that."

"But that doesn't mean I agree with it!" she retorted. "I've followed Starfleet protocol before, and I'll be damned if I'm going to leave him behind again!"

As she spoke those words she made eye contact with Worf. She thought she saw a flicker of emotion cross his face, but it was gone before she could interpret it.

"Worf, lock on the shuttle, now," ordered Riker.

"Sir!" Worf shouted in surprise. "There appears to be a malfunction with the tractor beam!"

"What?"

Beverly watched in shock as the crew scrambled to determine the cause. She put her head down and willed herself to complete her preparations before they could fix the problem.

"Sir," Data's calm voice carried across the comm. link. "I am not detecting any malfunctions with the tractor beam."

"Worf?" Riker asked.

"Sir, the phase inducers are showing a fluctuation of 0.02 percent," Worf replied.

"That is within acceptable parameters," replied Data.

"If she tries to go to warp while the beam is engaged, that 0.02 percent could cause shearing on the exterior of the shuttle," Worf replied.

"Unlikely, Lieutenant. It is far more likely that—"

Beverly's hands flew across the controls as she engaged the warp engines. _Done!_ Worf had bought her the time she needed to get away. Severing communication with the _Enterprise_ , she threw the shuttle into warp and watched the massive ship blink out of sight on the screen.

That day seemed light years ago as she watched the shuttle smoothly exit the belly of the _Targ_. Using only navigational thrusters, the shuttle cleared the immediate area and altered its course for the planet below. As soon as they cleared the _Targ's_ cloaking field the ship disappeared from their screen.

Beverly watched as Kragh skilfully brought the shuttle onto a trajectory similar to that of the cosmic debris that routinely encountered the planet's atmosphere near its south pole. As soon as the shuttle entered the outer fringe of the atmosphere, Beverly deployed the deuterium waste that had been stored on board. By releasing their own debris field, they hoped to fool the planetary security system into thinking the shuttle was a wayward satellite or old space junk.

They cleared the upper reaches of the atmosphere and encountered no resistance. Angling the shuttle on a steep descent to take advantage of the steep valleys on the landscape below, Kragh worked to get the shuttle out of view as quickly as possible.

Within minutes they were skimming along the floor of a rocky valley, heading slightly east. According to the navigation system, the valley opened up into a wide basin where the main entrance to the mine was located. They needed to time their approach to coincide with the destruction of the communications array located over 800 kilometres away.

Beverly spied the entrance to the mine and was about to call out when the vessel was suddenly rocked by disruptor fire. The shuttle careened off the wall of the gorge, damaging the port nacelle, and tumbled into the clearing.


	4. Chapter 4

"Stabilizers aren't responding!" Kragh called as he tried to restore helm control.

"Scanning to locate the source of the disruptor fire." Beverly's hands flew over the console.

"The port nacelle is venting plasma!"

"Scans confirmed. Attempting to lock on target."

"Navigation systems are offline!"

"Locking disruptors on target, now!" Beverly replied. It took every ounce of skill she had to keep the disruptors trained on the target while the shuttle bounced around like a pinball.

"The port engine is gone!" Acrid smoke began to slowly fill the cabin.

"Firing full spread, all disruptors, maximum power."

"Helm control is inoperative!" Kragh growled. "Switching to manual."

Beverly held onto the console as the shuttle suddenly lurched sideways. Regaining her position, she checked the sensors and reported, "Target destroyed!"

The immediate cessation of disruptor fire pummelling the hull confirmed her results. However, her sense of accomplishment was short-lived when Kragh said, "Manual override isn't responding! I can't maintain our trajectory!"

Thinking of the safety of the crew in the aft cabin, Beverly quickly toggled the interior communications link and shouted, "All hands brace for impact!"

The dizzying rush of the ground as it rose up to meet the shuttle was the last thing she saw before her world went black.

 _Smoke._

 _Pain._

 _Dizziness._

 _Rain._

 _Rain?_

It was raining when she found an isolated clearing in which to land the shuttle. The incessant drumming on the hull was mesmerizing as she powered down the _Okuda_. Fighting to keep her eyes open, Beverly initiated a total power shut-off to reduce the likelihood of detection. Stretching her tired muscles, she moved into the aft cabin to collect the passive scanning anti-detection array.

Beverly dragged the bulky bundle from its storage unit and dumped it outside the shuttle. She cringed at the thought of climbing all over the exterior of the _Okuda_ during a rainstorm, but she knew the necessity of obscuring the shuttle from passive sensor sweeps. She spent the previous thirty-six hours awake and manually piloting the _Okuda_ in order to avoid detection by various Federation vessels, and she wasn't about to give away her location now.

Thoroughly soaked, muddy, and shivering, Beverly made one last circuit of the shuttle to confirm the array's placement. The array was a simple enough device to drape over the craft with two or more people working together, but working alone, she found it to be unwieldy. Basically a glorified tarp, the passive scanning anti-detection array masked the shuttle's presence by bouncing all incoming sensor signals off the surrounding area and reflecting those signals back, thereby making the shuttle invisible to passive detection. A focused scan would quickly reveal the presence of the deuterium in the hull, but Beverly was gambling on the assumption that the Federation wasn't actively looking for her here.

Beverly pulled out her tricorder to orient herself before beginning her trek through the woods. Her destination lay three kilometres northwest of her current location. An hour's walk in daylight, she knew the darkness and rain would triple the time. Refusing to be daunted, she closed her tricorder and set off under the canopy of trees.

 _Not. Good. Enough_. She repeated her mantra as she walked. _Not. Good. Enough_. The words kept pace with her boots. After almost forty hours of repetition, she no longer recalled who or what wasn't good enough. All that mattered was putting one foot in front of the other. All that mattered was getting Jean-Luc back. _Not. Good. Enough_. She refused to contemplate the possibility she was describing her own actions.

She wasn't even aware of the door in front of her until it opened. Exhausted, numb, drenched, and mildly hypothermic, Beverly mutely stared at the chest of the silent manservant.

"Homn!" Lwaxana Troi cried above. "By the four deities, who's calling at this hour?"

Mr. Homn silently stepped aside, providing Beverly with a clear view of Lwaxana as she made her way down the staircase and into the foyer. Through the haze of her exhaustion she noted Lwaxana's slightly crooked wig and outrageously frilly robe. She watched Lwaxana's steps falter as she took in Beverly's unexpected and dishevelled appearance.

Beverly continued to stand as though frozen as Lwaxana approached. Always the perfect hostess, Mrs. Troi beamed at her guest and began fussing over her as soon as she reached the base of the stairs.

"Oh, my dear child!" Lwaxana effused. "Whatever are you doing here? Deanna didn't mention the _Enterprise_ stopping anywhere near Betazed!" She grasped Beverly by the shoulders and kissed both cheeks. "But you know my Little One, so independent!"

Beverly felt herself being pulled along by Lwaxana's constant chatter as she was guided into her home. "Now, where is that dashing captain of yours? I simply cannot believe Jean-Luc would bring his ship here and not pay his respects in person!"

At the mention of Jean-Luc, Beverly froze. Lwaxana turned to face her, suddenly silent. Beverly clung to her last shred of control as Lwaxana gently probed the outer reaches of her mind. Beverly closed her eyes, breathing deeply to maintain her calm demeanour. Opening her eyes again, she noticed Lwaxana's complexion had paled and she looked concerned.

"Homn!" Lwaxana called, "Tea! And brandy! Lots of brandy." Wrapping her arm around Beverly's shoulders she guided her to the sitting room. "Bring a blanket too!" she called over her shoulder as she helped Beverly take a seat on the sofa.

"Tell me about the captain."

The sofa was soft and comfortable – too soft. She felt her control slipping, sliding into the comforting embrace of the cushions and the warm gaze of the woman sitting beside her.

"The captain…" Beverly took a steadying breath. "The captain…" she tried again. She looked away from Lwaxana, trying to force her voice to remain neutral, to explain the situation as though she were delivering a standard medical report, but the surroundings and her own body were working against her. "The captain is missing and presumed dead. He disappeared during a routine diplomatic mission and his body was never recovered. Starfleet is investigating the incident but is not optimistic about finding him alive."

She did it. She said the words. Calm and detached, she used her physician's mantle to shield herself from the pain of reality.

Beverly felt Lwaxana's fingers on her chin. The older woman applied gentle pressure, turning her head, forcing her to make eye contact.

"Now, tell me what really happened," she said.

The words pierced her shield. Her control shattered.

"They took him." The first tear slid free.

"Took him?"

"Away."

Lwaxana waited for her to continue.

"He's gone, and they have him." The words poured out, faster and faster, spilling forth with a force of their own. "They won't admit it, and they won't tell us where he is. He's gone, and I can't get him back by myself." She choked back a sob. "I tried to tell them, but I couldn't make them understand. He's gone, and I wasn't fast enough. I hurt them, and they don't know why. He's gone, and I—"

"Hush, child," Lwaxana murmured as she pulled Beverly's head onto her chest. "You're distraught! Exhausted."

Beverly no longer possessed the energy to control her emotions. Lwaxana's kindness and concern brought her defences crumbling down. She didn't want to cry. She wanted – needed – to stay strong, but Lwaxana was stroking her hair and murmuring platitudes that would normally make her cringe. Now, she listened to the rain pattering on the windows as she cried and desperately wished Lwaxana was right, that everything would be fine.

 _Sobbing._

 _Rain._

 _Pain._

 _Smoke._

Beverly coughed and opened her eyes, startled to see the stern features of Lorn gazing back at her. Conduits and pipes were hissing and disgorging their contents overhead, mimicking the sound of a summer downpour. _Rain_ , she smiled to herself.

Lorn smiled at her and helped her to her feet. Quickly assessing herself for damage, Beverly determined that any injuries were superficial and wouldn't need treatment until after the mission. She moved into the aft cabin to check on the Klingons there.

Kragh was already moving among the men, checking their gear, making sure the weapons and charges were stowed properly. She quickly gathered up her own phaser rifle and disruptor. Tucking the disruptor into her belt and slinging the rifle over her shoulder, Beverly double checked her own gear before moving past her warriors and out the rear hatch of the shuttle.

She squinted against the bright light as she made out the entrance to the mine. The surrounding area appeared to be deserted, and their route to the entrance clear and open. Lorn appeared at her side and said, "Kragh says you fought like a Klingon."

"The weapons tower needed to be destroyed."

"A lesser warrior may not have had the presence of mind to achieve that while faced with an out of control shuttle hurtling toward the ground."

"A lesser warrior wouldn't be on my team," she replied.

Lorn grinned and clapped her on the shoulder before turning to give orders to the Klingons exiting the shuttle. Within seconds the team was moving away from the shuttle, toward the mine.

 _Toward Jean-Luc_ , Beverly prayed.


	5. Chapter 5

The canister tripped and bounced across the floor. Had it been any other situation, Beverly might have thought the sound musical. It quickly rolled beyond her sight, its staccato beat growing fainter as it travelled further into the mine shaft. An eerie silence descended on the party as they waited for the canister to do its job.

She felt more than heard it. A solid 'whump' rippled through the walls and out into the daylight. A wave of intense pressure passed through her as a bright flash of light illuminated the tunnel. She blinked away the after-image of the rough-hewn wall, hefted her phaser rifle, and sprinted down the corridor.

Beverly ran down the tunnels and through the chaos raging around her. The team moved with her, following their well-orchestrated plan. After breaching a checkpoint, they would leave two party members behind to keep the captives under control, and the rest would move on to the next checkpoint. Like the incoming tide, the Klingons washed through each installation, taking prisoners and gaining further control of the mine's operations.

She was preparing to toss the stun grenade into the final checkpoint when the whine of phaser fire ripped past her ear. Ducking to avoid the blast, she tried to toss the canister into the centre of the cavern. The poor angle caused the grenade to land along the right-hand wall where most of its effectiveness was absorbed by the dense rock.

The blare of the alarm screeching through the corridor was deafening. Beverly almost dropped her rifle in an instinctual move to protect her ears. The rifle was on its way up as her hands travelled toward the side of her head, saving her life as she was able to fire at the oncoming Hrashellian guard before he took aim at her. She ducked and rolled, taking cover on the far side of the tunnel where a small outcropping of rock afforded her slightly better cover.

In the brief lull before the onslaught of guards stormed her team's position, Beverly wondered, _What is it with the Hrashellians and their horrendously loud alarms?_ Gripping her rifle more tightly as she readied herself for the firefight to come, she added, _To hell with the guards, I'm shooting the speaker system._

"What the hell is that?" she shouted, trying to make herself heard over the piercing wail penetrating every cell in her body.

"This way, esteemed Doctor!" replied her guide. "We must get to safety!"

"What's going on?" she shouted, but her escort ran silently on.

She shouldn't have let them persuade her to leave the central gathering, but the opportunity to tour a Hrashellian medical facility was too tempting, and Jean-Luc had assured her he would be fine on his own for a few hours. They ran along an empty breezeway, the Hrashellian's sandals slapping against the marble. _Something's not right_. The painful volume of the alarm made thinking difficult, but the sensation refused to go away. She gradually slowed to a walk and began to examine her surroundings in more detail. Her escort disappeared around a corner and Beverly slowed her pace further.

She stopped in surprise when she glanced through an open doorway and saw several Hrashellians calmly working at their desks. They showed no signs of discomfort with the alarm—they showed no sign of even being aware of it!

She passed another office and witnessed the same scene. She glanced over both shoulders, ensuring she was unseen, and slipped into the alcove outside the office. Two males stood in the office, speaking in normal tones despite the deafening cacophony. She pulled out her tricorder and ran a series of scans on the aliens. _The frequency is too high for their ears!_ The urge to gouge out her eardrums was nearly overwhelming, but she focused her mind back to the mystery at hand. _Why would the Hrashellians have an alarm they can't hear?_

Beverly adjusted the field harmonics on her tricorder and reversed the transmission direction of the small scanning attachment. By adjusting the output strength and holding the silver cylinder under her chin, she was able to block the sound of the alarm.

"The furless one has been dealt with," said the tallest male.

"And the other? The one with the Bloorsegg-coloured fur?"

"Gromina is setting everything up as we speak."

"The negotiations must be concluded before the next planet-cycle."

Beverly jumped as her guide clamped a strong hand around her forearm and pulled her away from the corridor. "Please! Honoured Doctor, you must come away, now!" They resumed their trek down the breezeway and rounded the corner when an explosion rocked the facility.

Beverly grabbed the wall for support.

"Insurgents! We must get to safety!"

"That came from the area where—Damn it! Jean-Luc!" Beverly pushed off the wall and sprinted back the way they'd come.

"Doctor!" the Hrashellian struggled to match Beverly's long strides. "It is not safe! We must go the other way!"

Beverly shook her head and kept running. "Crusher to Picard." She tapped her communicator several times. "Crusher to away team – respond!"

" _Cortez here, sir._ "

Beverly relaxed slightly. "Cortez, is the team all right?"

" _Yes, sir. We were on a tour of a nearby historical monument when the explosion occurred. We're making our way back now._ "

"Excellent. We'll meet at the south entrance." She slowed her run to a brisk walk. "Tell the captain his communicator's not working properly. He'll need a new one when we get back to the ship."

" _Uh, sir?_ " Cortez paused and ice poured down Beverly's spine.

"Cortez, is the captain with you?"

" _No, sir. We were told he joined you on your tour_."

"The captain is not with me." Beverly ran a hand through her hair and took a deep breath. "Cortez, I am changing the mission parameters, effective immediately. Begin security protocol Worf-Beta-019 on my authorization."

" _Worf-Beta-019, yes, sir. Understood. But sir, you're alone—_ "

 _Those words couldn't be more true_ , Beverly thought. "I will maintain constant contact with the _Enterprise_. Crusher out."

Images of Jean-Luc's broken body lying under a pile of rubble flashed through her mind. Forcing the pictures aside, she set her mind to the task. She was now in command of a tactical retrieval mission in presumably hostile territory. The sound of weapons fire carried easily despite the clangour of the alarms and Beverly swapped her tricorder for her phaser, lengthened her strides, and left her escort far behind.

The metallic taste of blood coated her tongue as she ran it along the inside of her cheek. The dead Hrashellian at her feet hadn't been as dead as she'd thought and had swung his rifle up in an attempt to smash her head in. The rifle made contact with the right side of her face, slamming her skull against the rough wall of the tunnel. She remained conscious through sheer force of will, and grinned at Lorn as he kicked the rifle from the Hrashellian's hands.

"Wait!" Beverly ordered as Lorn raised his weapon and prepared to fire on the prone figure. Lorn paused, but refused to take his eyes off the target. "We need—" she spat some of the choking blood out. "We need access to that chamber. It'll be a blood bath if we attempt to storm it."

Lorn's lips curled. "What is your plan?"

Beverly looked at the defiant soldier at her feet. "We need a shield." His scowl turned to terror as she met his gaze. "I suggest you very loudly and very clearly inform your friends of your imminent return."

The Hrashellian yelped as Lorn and two other Klingons hoisted him into the air and held him across their chests like a log. Beverly pulled herself up and stood between Lorn and K'Path, rifle at the ready.

"On three," she said. "One... two... three!"


	6. Chapter 6

"Sto'VoKor! Sto'VoKor! Sto'VoKor!"

The chant reverberated off the walls of the cavern as the team entered the final checkpoint. The noise from their boots and armour provided a steady beat as each warrior called out a line from the ancient battle song.

"The hills run red with blood!"

"Sto'VoKor!" they all chanted.

"The power of my clan rests in the strength of my arms!"

"Sto'VoKor!"

"Battle rage flows through my veins!"

"Sto'VoKor!"

Beverly was touched by the gesture of respect. Hers was the privilege of calling out the last line, an honour reserved for clan chiefs and warriors of renown. Her hard boots striking the floor in time with chant gave her the strength to open her mouth and shout.

"It is a good day to die!"

"Sto'VoKor! Sto'VoKor! Sto'VoKor!"

They marched into the cavern with the squealing Hrashellian guard held across their chests, expecting to fight to the end. Instead, they found the last cache of guards kneeling with their hands raised; crying out for mercy.

Beverly shook her head—then winced—as she ran to the command station. Lorn, K'Path, Kragh, and the remaining Klingons bound the Hrashellians hand and foot, and propped them against the far wall. She slipped into the central chair and pulled the chain holding the isolinear chip out from around her neck. She'd gone to a lot of trouble to acquire the access codes to the mine's work rosters; she prayed the codes worked.

=/\=

"Beverly, dear," Lwaxana said, gliding into the receiving room. "Your plight has not fallen on deaf ears. There is no one in this galaxy who holds Jean-Luc more dear than I, but," she paused and sighed, "I'm afraid I cannot act in any official capacity in this regard."

Beverly closed her eyes. Despite her exhaustion, she'd only slept a few hours before her desperation to find Jean-Luc drove her from the luxurious linens. Her plan hadn't been entirely thought-through when she'd stolen the shuttle, but she reasoned Lwaxana—of all people—would understand her need, and would be willing to help.

For the first time since the Arveda disaster, she prayed.

The cushion Beverly sat on sagged as Lwaxana took a seat beside her. The older woman placed a gentle hand on her knee and squeezed.

"However," Lwaxana said, "there are several things I am more than willing to do in an unofficial capacity."

Beverly's eyes snapped open. Lwaxana's eyes glittered mischievously.

"I'm assuming you wish to be part of any rescue or extraction mission," the Betazoid continued and Beverly nodded. Lwaxana clucked her tongue, "I don't know what it is with you Starfleet types. You're always running around, getting into danger, and no one seems to bat an eye. If just a few of you had a greater sense of self-preservation—"

A jolt of anger flashed across Beverly's skin, and she opened her mouth to reply.

Lwaxana waved her hand. "I know, dear. This isn't about self-preservation or throwing yourself needlessly in harm's way." She smiled and patted Beverly's knee again. "It's about love."

Beverly blushed. "I owe him. I left him behind before and I swore, 'never again'."

"Yes, dear," Lwaxana said. "If it makes it easier for you to believe that, who am I to contradict?"

Beverly touched her fingers to her burning cheeks. She'd forgotten how disconcerting—like walking into a senior officer's meeting naked—spending time with a true telepath was.

Lwaxana laughed. "Oh, Beverly, let's save the nudity for the wedding, shall we? Now, would you like me to tell you what I've learned while you were sleeping?"

Beverly nodded, afraid not only to think, but to speak.

Beverly turned the isolinear chip in her fingers, marvelling at Lwaxana's interstellar contacts and her unreserved generosity. The Betazoid had spent a fortune on hiring the _Targ_ and her crew, and most likely an even larger sum in acquiring the intelligence Beverly needed to find and retrieve Jean-Luc. Even if she forfeited all her earnings for the rest of her life, there was no way Beverly could come close to repaying the woman.

So, she'd done the only thing she possibly could.

"I'm sorry, Nana," she whispered as she slid the chip into the glowing panel. "I promise you he's worth it."

Moments before beaming up to the Valurdian freighter that had been hired to rendezvous with the _Targ_ , Beverly had signed over the one commodity she had to offer – her Nana's property on Caldos. It wouldn't come close to covering Lwaxana's costs, but Beverly felt it was the least she could do.

She had her Nana's journals. Those would be more than sufficient to honor her memory.

The panel beeped and streams of data scrolled past at lightning speed. Beverly keyed in the commands as she'd been instructed, and within seconds a list of only six numbers shone on the screen.

Beverly raised her eyebrow. She hadn't expected that. The command was supposed to sort all the prisoners by species as the Hrashellians only recorded them as numbers, not names, in their rosters. She didn't want to contemplate how a species on the far side of the galaxy had managed to acquire six humans for its mines.

Her shoulders relaxed marginally when she noticed all six were assigned to the same shaft complex. Logic dictated they would be housed close together too. She hadn't even contemplated the possibility of having to search the close to two hundred shaft complexes.

"This way," she said as she stood.

Lorn and three other Klingons fell in behind her as she sprinted down the third tunnel on the right. She adjusted the concussive helmet Lorn had insisted she wear—arguing her skull was not as thick as a Klingon's—as her legs carried her down the final stretch. She prayed they wouldn't have any trouble finding him once they broke into the prisoner's barracks.

Her mind refused to even acknowledge the possibility Jean-Luc wouldn't be among them.


	7. Chapter 7

The prisoners returned from their shifts, shuffling into the central area like so many grey ghosts. Beverly searched for a sign—a familiar gait, bald head, profile, anything—hinting at where Jean-Luc was. The lighting was too low, and the prisoners too dirty for her to pick out any details from her vantage point.

Lorn stood over the group of cowering guards, his disrupter rifle pointed at the face of the Hrashellian in charge. The other Klingons circled the group warily, like a pack of wolves eyeing their prey.

Beverly pulled off the damned helmet and looked at Lorn. "Make them tell me where the humans are."

Lorn grinned and stepped closer to the lead guard. The Hrashellian visibly paled and waved his hands in surrender. "She doesn't want your surrender, P'TaQ, she wants the humans."

The Hrashellian's protestations of ignorance were met with a swift kick in the side. The guard shrieked and toppled over, clutching the ribs on his right side. Lorn picked the man up by his collar and bared his teeth less than an inch from the Hrashellian's hairy nose. The guard began gesticulating wildly and Lorn growled in frustration.

Lorn glanced at K'Gresh, his first pick for the extraction team, and spoke in Klingon, "Let's see if losing one of his own men will spark his memory. Kill—"

"No!" Beverly shouted. She switched from Standard to Klingon and said, "There will be no executions of any who surrendered."

She followed Lorn's glance around the chamber. There had to be hundreds of prisoners huddled against the far walls.

"Doq, we don't have time to search each face. They will have learned something is wrong at the mine and will be sending troops to investigate. The _Targ_ will not wait past the appointed time, and _I_ will not wait for you."

Just then a scuffle broke out on Beverly's right where one of more than a dozen mine shafts opened into the central area. She raised her rifle, worried they'd missed a guard, and then lowered it as a man—a human male—stumbled from the cluster clutching his jaw.

He was gaunt, nearly doubled over from hard labor and malnutrition, and completely devoid of color. She took a step toward him and her breath caught in her throat.

The rifle fell from her numb hands as the man looked up and met her eyes. Their gaze locked, and while Beverly remained rooted to the spot, he seemed to transform with every shambling step he took in her direction.

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't hear past the thundering in her ears. She refused to blink, afraid he'd disappear in a puff of grey dust. Still, he stepped closer. He stood straighter. His faltering steps grew more sure. In a moment that would haunt her darkest nightmares and yet colour her sweetest dreams, he emerged from the grey and into her world.

"Jean-Luc," she whispered.

He stopped less than a yard from her, his gaze never having left her face. "You're here." His voice was hoarse from dust and disuse.

"I'm here."


End file.
